The Fioretti is a literary journal consisting of original submissions and editing from contributing students at Marian University, Indianapolis.

Date Digital

2011

Type

Periodicals, Text

Technical Metadata

Full View: 300 ppi jpg ; Archived: 300 ppi tiff ; bit depth 8

Rights

Copyright 2012 Marian University (Indianapolis, Indiana). Users of this material are kindly requested to appropriate credit to Marian University in compliance with copyright and intellectual property law. Under Title 17, U.S. Code, this material may be protected by United States Copyright Law governing the reproduction, distribution, display or other uses of protected works.

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//
THE OBLIGATION OF PLAY
Cheryl Bailey
Michael fingered the shiny gold disk in
his pocket as he floated down through the jet
transporter to the basement of the library.
The first three levels contained the hologram
'computers. The basement contained the real
treasures. This was the third time he had won
the Literary Imagery Award. He had created
the hologram story of "I-man and Terra
Ferma" a story of man and his relationship
with the nature of earth. The storm sequences
were so realistic that even the teacher had
ducked when the lightning flashed. The
principal had complimented him by comparing
Michael/s color flash technique ~o that of
Walt Disney/s use of color in his animated
storIes. Michael did not remember who Disney
was, except that he was a famous animator,
one of thef i rst, and that t-he man / s works
were mostly pre-war stuff and very expensive.
Not too many thrid level working families
coul~ afford to purchase a tIcket for one of
his showings. Hologram discs for home vIewing
cost from one dollar to five dollars, an
amount easIly saved from a month's wages, if
one was frugal. The discs were first
introduced in the early 1990/s, but with a
poor production quality and expensive
viewers. Paperback books had still been the
rage. Since ' the cost of wood pulp and cloth
tripled ~fter the war, due to the destruction
and inability to regrow most of the world/s
forests, the holograms became the only source
of literary works. Paperbacks were no longer
in existence since they quickly rotted in
time. Hardbound books were things of legend
for most people. The first level employees
had the privilege of viewing one for a
hundred dollars an hour. There were those in
the eighth and lower levels who had never
even heard the legend of books. '
Michael touched the disc and smiled to
himself; he knew the truth behind the
legends. He knew the beauty of ,a real story
and not the altered, pale reproductions the
holograms portrayed. Michael remembered the
astonishment he felt when he first read
Beauty and the Beast. The hologram had
portrayed the Beast as a post-war radiation
mutant with huge sores and grotesque
deformaties. How such a creature paled to the
description of a truly animalistic beast that
hunted fresh game and had tragic p black pools
for eyes! Holograms left nothing to the
imagination of the viewer; they created the
picture for him, rather than let his mind
create the image from the configuration of
words placed before him. Holograms bored
Michael, at least the common affordable ones
for homeviewing. Holograms were the idiot
boxes of the 21st century. The increasing
pressure of the Jet stream began to slow his
descent and aroused Michael from his reverie.
When he became level with the exit ramp, he
'grabbed the handhold and pulled himself out
of the stream. The plate on which he stepped
registered his arrival and the Jet stream
shut down. Michael was pleased to see that
Simon was the security guard on duty. He
stood behind a huge console to the left of
the ramp. Stepping to the deskp he proudly
extended the gold disc for Simon/s
inspect Ion.
"Afternoon, Mr. Jackson."
"It/s Just Simon between us buddies,
Michael" the guard said. He winked at
Michael as he took the disc and hefted it In
his left hand. "A quarter of a pound If it/s
an ounce." He smiled at the boy as he placed
it on the metabolic analyzer. "Nice going,
Mike. It must be a humdinger of a hologram to
earn you four full hours. When do I get to
see it?" The analyzer read out confirmed
Slmon/s estimate. a pure one-fourth pound
solid gold disc. Simon placed the disc in
another compartment and pushed the button
above it. A warning buzzer sounded and the
top of the compartment slammed down on the
disc, then rose back into place. When the
buzzer stopped a few seconds later, Simon
removed the disc and gave it back to M4chael.
Now ImprInted on its surface were the symbols
for Alpha and Omega, and the date, March 18,
2096. The InvalIdated dIsc would Join the
other three In Michael/s awards case.
"You get to see the dIsplay at the
Summer Fest 1 va I. MI ne wI I -I be at the center
of the natIonal elementar-y exhIbIt. If It
wIns out aginst the other school levels, It
wIll be entered In the internatIonal
compet i-t Ion." M I chae I / S eyes shone w-I-th
excItement.
"A I If-etime dIsc." Simon/s voIce echoed
the awe of such a prIze. The InternatIonal
Lifetime Disc Award for entry Into the
WashIngton Library of LIterary Works was a
prize well cherIshed. It had been awarded
on I y., three ot'her t lmes, even though there had
been eIght internatIonal contests. A wInnIng
hologram didn/t guarantee a lIfetime award;
only -monetary awards we~e guaran-teed.
As they talked, SImon had led MIchael to
the entrance chamber and .helped the boy into
a decontamInatIon suIt. The suit was a
modIfication of the old twentIeth century
radIatIon suits used by the army durIng the
war. ~Everi If I don/t win the nationals, thIs
Is prize enough." Michael/s words were
muffled by the breathIng hood he had pulled
over his face.
Simon snapped closed the hood and
flIpped the coverplate back up. He looked
Michael straight in the eye and said in a
stern, fatherly voice, "Listen up, lad." HIs
smooth brown brow furrowed wIth concern as he
cautioned the boy In the suits use. "you have
only ten mInutes of breathing tIme left once
the Inner door opens, so choose your category
quIckly. If you are not sure, hook up and
check the lIbrarIan; then move to the right
area. THERE IS NO OXYGEN IN THE ROOM! IF YOU
DON/T PLUG UP. YOU DON/T BREATHE! IF YOU
DON/T BREATHE, YOU/RE GONNA DIE! GOT IT?"
"Got It!" MIchael nodded vIgorously. He
knew the rules by heart. SImon knew he knew
them, but SImon took his responsIbIlIty
personally. No one had dIed on hIm yet; not
even the lady who got so excIted reading
Browning that her heart quIt tIckIng.
Everyone, from the president on down, got his
safety lecture, some more colorful than
others. but they said the same thing. Oxygen
was an enemy. Oxygen and time would turn wood
pulp into dried and crumbly patches at the
touch of a fingertip. A few of the treasures
were close to that state now. too close. It
had been several years before anyone had
thought about saving culture. After the war.
they had been too concerned with saving
lIving creatures and growing food to worry
about savIng history and growing inteJ lectual
minds.
Simon let Michael into the entrance
chamber which resembled the aIr lock of a
space craft from the old sci-fi movies. He
sealed the door behind Michael and watched
him through the plexiglass window of the
door. Michael positioned himself In front of
a smaller versIon of the entrance door. took
three deep breaths. and slammed the faceplate
down and locked It into place. On Michael/s
thumbs up sIgnal, Simon pressed the large
green button above the door. A loud hissing
sound followed as the aIr was sucked out of
the chamber. A yellow light flashed beside
the green button until the hissing noise
stopped, then a green 1 ight beside it began
to flash. Simon/s poised hand pushed the
large red button located Just beneath the
1
first button. The second door opened and a
warning buzzer sounded. Michael stepped
through and the door slId shut behind him.
The buzzer ceased. The whole procedure had
taken a little over one minute.
Michael knew exactly where he was going
and he wasted no time in walking down the
third aisle to his left, past the towering
bookcase of hand carved oak. The last of the
known supply of lumber had gone into the
construction of the library. Each aisle of
bookcases was made of a different type of
wood. Each case had a letter of the alphabet
carved into its side. Michael had chose~ the
aisle in which the first bookcase had the
word "fiction" carved across its front. He
stopped at the case carved with an ornate,
fourteenth century "T" at its top. On the
side of each case was a librarian. It
consisted of a chair which resembled a
pilot/e seat wIth a computer console attached
to its front. At the base of the chaIr was a
green outlet into which Michael plugged his
air hose. The hose was wrapped around his
waIst. and could be unwrapped to a distance of
four feet, the approxImate distance between
librarians. Michael took a deep breath and
Inhaled the stale, flltered breathing mIxture
that flooded hIs suit. Each lIbrarian had its
own air tank located beneath the chair. From
his console, Simon could set each tank for
the alloted tIme a vIsItor had been allowed.
This polIcy discouraged lingerers and slow
readers. MIchael waved at the ceiling camera
located a short distance down the aisle and
climbed Into hIs seat. He flicked on the
computer and waIted for It to come on-lIne.
He leaned back In hIs chair and let his eyes
soak in the wonder of treasures the case
held. From behind the plexiglass shields of
the case, rectangles of many different shapes
and sizes tantalized hIm. His fingers ached
to leaf through theIr ancient pages, to feel
the texture of theIr dIfferent graIns beneath
his fIngertIps. It was a favorite fantasy of
hIs, to take down one of those delIcate
treasures and curl up under a huge tree on a
warm, sunny afternoon and become lost In
another tIme and another world.
MIchael sighed; there were very few
trees anymore, and the ultravIolet rays of
the sun were no longer blocked by the ozone
layer, which had decayed. Exposure for more
than one or two hours would kIll hIm.
Besides, hIs treasures were securely locked
away In the bowels of the earth, lIke the
lost treasures of the Incas that he had read
about on one of his other vIsIts. The console
screen lIt up and the display of authors
demanded hIs attention. Names such as Taylor,
Tennyson, Thomas and Thoreau glared out at
him In the eerie green light of the dIsplay
case. Names that once, long ago were spoken
with respect and awe. The mention of such
names had brought ideas and history Into the
mInds of the lIstener. These meant lIttle to
the eleven-year-old boy who saw them now for
the first time, and passed over them with
little regard tor their importance.
"Who are you picking today?" SimonIs
voice crackled over the receiver in MichaelIs
hood.
" My tea c her thou gh tIm i gh t I ike a gu y
by the name of Mark Twain. He said Twain
wrote stories about the life of a young boy
named Tom. Tom somethIng, I forget. My
teacher real ly hadn/tread him, Just heard
that he was good. Anyhow, I thought lId try
him." While he spoke, MIchael had marked the
selection box by the authorls name wIth the
console/s I ight pen. There had been only two
selectIons brought up under that name, one
about a JumpIng frog, whatever a frog was,
and one named The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
In a few moments, the book dropped into
the plexlgJass reading case Just below the
screen. Michael turned the lIght on outsIde
the case and reached to the rIght of the
book . "One day, maybe I'll really touch one"
he thought as he manuevered the hand
extenders InsIde the case to open the book.
"Ready, Simon?" he InquIred of his friend who
always shared his adventures.
"Ready and waIting." SImon's voice held a
pure smile of delight.
"Chapter one." Michael's voice trembled
with excitement as he b~gan the trip into an
ancient time. A tIme now gone, but lIke Tom
Sawyer's great magnifIcent inspiratIon, not
lost forever .
I
I
. J\
.
\
\
6" ...,.."
/ "
/ '--
'\
~\
~
.'-­,
/
f
_ -- ---- -~ .-_l
.----
/0
"These kids are pretty good" I thought
as I walked among them into school, blinded
momentarily by the reflection of the sunlight
off the multi-colored lockers. I glanced
around the lobby. The usual pairs, trios and
groups stood talking, waiting for the flrst
bell to ring. And there were the solltary
ones as well. This always disturbed me,
especially this far into the year; no one
should be alone in a school this size. Maybe
they didn/t try to make friends. I shook my
head as I walked into the office.
IIWel1 good morning, Mr. Owens" Mrs.
Karen, the school clerk, said. She insisted
on calling me Mr. Owens despite my persistent
attempts otherwise.
"Morning, Mrs. Karen" I countered, even
though everyone else called her Joy.
"Hell~ Ken" Mr. Wilson, the vice
principal, said as he came out of his office
with a paper in hand which he gave to Mrs.
Karen. "Kristy Brock will be in to see me.
Disciplinary problem." He paused and looked
at me then back at Joy. "Again."
"Don/t ring that bell yet!" shouted a
facel,ess voice as its person darted into the
office, grabbed attendance sheets and darted
out again.
"Can/t you do anything about this
Kristy, Ken?" Wilson began, sauntering over
to me. I knew from his gait that he was
Joking. "I mean, can/t you give her one of
those psychological tests of yours that will
render her incompetent to make trouble?"
I scratched the back of my head and
pretended to consider his proposal. "Well ...
there is one, Mr. Wilson. But it/s not
full-proof. I tried it on you last year--" He
II
turned wIth a smile and walked back Into his
offIce.
I picked up my attendance sheets and
headed for the door to the hallway. Joy sang
out her usual "aloha" attached to "Mr. OWens"
and. stIll heading out the door. I turned
back and gave her a smIrk. Her eyes grew wIde
as she watched me collide rather roughly wIth
a student who, apparently, wasn~t watchIng
where she was goIng eIther. Her books fell to
the floor. As I watched them fall. I noticed
her fIsts were clenched tightly. I quIckly
looked to see who It was, but I dId not
recognIze thIs gIrl.
"I~m ~orry,U I saId. Her eyes darted to
my face and then down to the floor where her
books lay scattered. I bent to help her pIck
them up. RIght beneath my feet was one
notebook facing down. On the back sIde was a
poem, the tItle of which was the only thIng I
caught. The words stung me--"Someone. Care."
Her hand. reachIng for the book, obscured the
other lines. Instinctively, my grIp
tIghtened. I looked at her. Her face was hard
. and her eyes had the same effect upon me as
had the tItle of the poem. I released the
book and watched her stand and move sIlently
away--alone.
I saw her several tImes that day. Each
tIme, she was alone. She struck me as odd In
her blue Jeans and Jacket wIth its collar
turned up. Her clothes Just didn~t seem to
fIt her. They fIt her outward appearance-­clenched
fists and determIned walk, but they
surely dldn~t fit her eyes. Her eyes haunted
me.
The next day, I walked to the door of my
offIce Just off the gym In time to see thIs
gIrl come In from outside. She must have
JoIned cross country. Kristy and a few of her
frIends sat at the entrance of the girls
locker room. This gIrl walked towards them. I
. wal ted.
"Here comes MIlhouse" one of KrIsty~s
/Z
friends whined.
"She's bad" Kristy Joined in. "Don't
mess with her. She's bad."
Milhouse, as I now assumed her name was,
stopped.
"You gotta problem?" she addressed the
girls. Her voice was stern.
"0-00000" one of them returned.
Kristy stood up. "How come you're so
bad?" she asked sarcastically.
Milhouse took a step towards her. I
thought I'd better intervene.
"Okay. That's enough. 1I I started towards
them. "Don't you think you're in enough
trouble?1I I asked Kristy. She walked through
the locker room doors. Her friends followed.
I looked at Milhouse. She started for the
doors also.
IIWait a minute,lI I began. "What's your
name? II
" Tammy II was the curt reply.
"You haven't been going here all year?1I
, IINo. II
IIYou're running cross country?1I I
continued.
IILook" Tammy answered, "I've got to get
changed and get home."
1100 you like it here?" I asked, trying
to continue the conversation and find
something out about the girl.
, lIWho are you?" she asked as if my right
to ask depended upon my answer.
liKen Owens. I'm the athletic trainer
and" I paused, not knowing how this would go
over with her, "--and a counselor." It didn't
go over well. Her face hardened.
"I gotta go" she said quietly as she
slipped through the door.
"Well you handled that one beautifully,
Owens" I said to myself as I walked back to
my office. IIJust beautifully.1I
Coach Stevens walked into the gym after
13
sending the girls off to run •
. "Mike" I called as I walked out of my
office to meet him. "Gotta minute?" He waited
for me. "Tammy Milhouse on your team, what do
you think of her?"
He fingered his mustache and chuckled.
"She's a hard one. Our best runner, Ken. We
might make state with her."
"I'm talking attitude, Mike."
He shook his head affirmatively. "I
figured you Were. She's hard there too.
Doesn't talk much and isn't hesitant to show
she's mad about something."
"Such as--"
"The other day We were running. I was
running with them. We were heading towards
some major hills so I told the first year
runners, including Tammy, to fall back and
watch how the older gals paced themselves.
Tammy informed me that she knew how to pace
herself. I got a bit perturbed and told her,
then, to go ahead and prove it. Ken, I
thought she was gonna tucker out by the
fourth . hil I. She hit the school grounds two
hundred yards In front of our best runner
from last season!1I
"How does she get along wIth the
others?" I asked.
IIShe doesn't relate with any of 'em
except Mary j o. "
I walked down to the office to take a
peek at Tammy's records. Mrs. Karen was
sitting on her desk.
"That's it" I teased, II lounging again."
"This has been a long day,1I she said.
I opened the file drawer marked "M" and
flipped through.
IIWho are you searching for?1I Joy asked.
"New kid. Tammy Milhouse."
"She's interesting. You know she's the
one you ran into-- II she started laughing.
"Yea, II I answered, IIV/hat do you know
about her?" I had found the file and was
looking through the papers.
"Well for one, this Is her sixth
hI ghschoo I . "
"What?!" I was shocked. "Why?"
"I don / t know" Joy rep lied. II 1/ d love
to find out. Probably the father/s in the
mili tary or someth i ng."
"There/s got to be somethIng more to It
than that" I mumbled.
As I unlocked the door to my office,
someone ran into the gym screaming. I turned
around. It was Maryjo. She was talking--or,
rather, screaming--so fast, I couldn/t make
out what she was saying.
"Time out!" I cried. "Now slow it down
and tell me what/s wrong." Something had
happened to one of the runners. That was my
guess, and Maryjo proved me correct.
" It / S Tammy" she panted. "She fe 11 down
Ole Faithful. She/s bleeding."
II lsi t bad enough for an ambu lance?" I
asked, knowing she couldn/t tel) me for sure.
"I don/t think so. It/s not broken or
anything."
"What/s not broken?" I asked while
grabbing a towel and heading out the door.
"It/s her leg. She scraped it all up.
She might/a twisted her ankle /cause she
can/t walk on it."
Ole Faithful was a steep hil), infamous
to the football and cross country teams who
suffered its grade almost daily.
Maryjo was walking fast; she broke into
a jog as we got outside. I Joined her and
decided that this was a good time for a few
questions.
"Are you and Tall'lTlY good frIends?" I
asked.
"I/d like to be. She/s kind of distant."
"Have you met her family?"
"No. Her parents are divorced--or
they/re getting a divorce. I don/t remember
15
what she said exactly." MaryJo glanced over
a t me . p r obably wondering why I was asking
a t)out T afTlIny.
"She hasn't been here all year" I said.
I don't know why I said that.
"! know. Something happened at her last
schoo l. 1i
"Did she tell you that?" I asked.
"Not exactly. She Just says she hates it
5 0 I flgJred something bad must have
happened . II
Ole Faithful was steep. By the time we
react)ed the top, my legs ached. I looked down
the other s ide. Tammy was neatly propped up
against a tree trunk with one leg stretched
out before her and the other, the injured
one, bent backwards. Her face tightened when
she saw me. I took a deep breath and started
down the hi 11.
"MarYJo" I said, realIzing I couldn't
get TalP.my ins ide myself, "get Stevens or one
of the guys." I continued down the hill
alone. "Are you okay besides your leg?"
"Yes. II
"Let me take a look at that." She winced
as ·I "wiped away the blood and dirt. "Hold
this on there with a little pressure." I kept
my hand on the towel, waiting for her to put
her hand there. She held her hand above mine
as if she didn't want our hands to touch in
the exchange. I moved my hand away. She
brought hers In.
"Tam--" I started and then thought
better of it. Stevens was coming down the
hi I I .
"Ole Faithful scores another casualty !"
he said.
liThe other side" I suggested. We picked
Tammy up. She started to fall back.
"You're gonna have to put your arms
around us, Tammy" Coach said. I was glad I
dIdn' t have to say it. Reluctantly, she
complied. We carried her inside and put her
on the table in my office.
~Take good care ot her, Doc" Coach
said. ~We're gonna need her."
"He's pretty happy about your bei ng on
the team" I said after Coach had left. No
answer. I began to clean her leg with
disinfectant. She winced again.
"Last year, he had a pretty good t eam,
but they didn't make it to state" I
continued. Stil I no answer. I couldn't
understand her. The title of her poem h aunted
me dally: "Someone, Care." I was trying to
show her I cared, but she wasn't responding .
I decided on a direct approach.
"What gives you the right to be mad at
the world?" My voice was gentle. I gave her
my undivided attention. Her face was s tlll
hard. She appeared to be wei ghing her an s wer .
Just before s he began to speak, MaryJo c ame
bounding in the office.
~Your mom's he re, Tammy. At le ast I
think it's your mom. She asked me where you
were. I told her you tel I and Doc was
cl e aning you up. I told her you'd be ri gh t
out. "
I wr apped Tarmny' sank I e wh i ch was
swe lling already.
"Keep Ice on this tonight" I s aid. I
helped he r from the table--help she
heSitantly acce pted. I walked with he r t o the
door. The woman outside couldn't have be en
much more than 30.
Ills that your mom?" I asked. Tammy
nodded. The woman looked concerned.
"Is she al I right?" she asked, looki ng
at me and taking Tammy's arm.
~Twtsted ankle." I r~plied, relieved to
find her mother concerned and. on fIrst
impression. kind. "It's not broken. She'll
need to keep lee on that. And, Tammy--" I
walted for her to look at me. She didn't. I
looked at her mother. She gave me a look
which seemed to say "Please excuse her."
11
"See me tomorrow, TaI'TVllY."
I considered calling Tal'TVllY/s mother but
decided against it. Tammy might reeent that.
I thought I/d Just watch her to see if she
needed time to get used to us.
The first cross country meet came
quickly. Tammy brought home a trophy. It was
put in the showcase outside the office.
Students and teachers commended Tammy for her
race; she wasn/t too responsive.
The next meet was an invitational. There
was a great deal of prestige associated with
it. In addition to this. our great rival,
Meridian High, was racing. Therefore, we had
two good reasons to win.
I drove out to the meet with a few other
faculty members. A light rain had begun to
fall as we pulled up to the track. We got out
and huddled around Coach Stevens.
"SO, are we gonna pull this out?"
"Sure , we are!" he replied. His tone
wasn/t as optimistic as his choice of words
would have allowed.
"This will be our first win in this
in vi t'a tiona I . "
"Seems like that new kId can pull it
out ...
"She/s a strange one. Sure isn/t too
congen i al . II
I looked around for Tammy- -the
uncongenial one. That made me mad. They
should know better. I caught Tammy pushing to
the front of the pack in order to get a good
start. The gun was fired. Tammy sprinted
until she reached the heels of the front
runner. She slowed but kept close, so clos e I
thought she/d step on the back of the front
gir}/s feet. After a while, Tammy sped up .
The girl in front did likewise, trying t o
retain her lead. Tammy sped up again. Strain
began to show on the front girl/s face.
Tammy/s face was rigid, her eyes set straigh t
ahead. Suddenly the front girl began to cut
over directly in front of Tammy. Their feet
mixed and both went down hard. The others
were gaining. Tammy/s knees were bleeding.
She glanced behind her and, like a runner
bolting from the starting I ine, she headed
for the finIsh not two hundred yards away.
She crossed it alone.
The other girls on our team finished
well. The crowd that gathered to hear the
final results was large. Tammy was standing
with the team, but really apart from it. They
were conversing and laughing; Tammy was
silent.
Someone grabbed a bullhorn and announced
Joyfully that we had won it. The result was
chaos. The team began to Jump up and down and
scream. The crowd cheered. Tammy, I think,
smiled faintly. "That/s it" I thought. "I/m
calling Mrs. Milhouse."
The fol lowing day, my decision to talk
to Tammy/s mom was reinforced. Tammy had come
down to my office for an ace bandage and had
left one of her notebooks. I turned it over
to identify it. I saw her name and the poem
called "Someone. Care." I felt a cold chill
go down my back as I read.
Don/t ask me to stand naked before you.
without pretence or other selves,
with no other name but my own-­Just
me?
Don/t attempt to quiet me,
to silence the thousand voices.
to muffle the cliches, to drown
the actress
whose roles never end with
Just me.
Don/t set up a mirror before me;
I/ve grown beyond that game.
1/11 paint an Image.
a pseudo reflection
and hide from what really shows-­Just
me.
19
Don/t ask ... don/t attempt •.. don/t-­but
know me well enough to see
I yearn for someone
to shatter my wall
and read in my don/ts
a dying plea.
I sat down and slowly dialed the number
of the place where Mrs. Milhouse worked. She
answered the phone. I identified myself. She
remembered our meeting the other day.
"You must excuse my daughter, Mr. Owens.
She/s been through a lot."
"That/s why I/m calling you. Can you
tell me what she/s been through? Mrs.
Milhouse, Tammy relates with no one. I don/t
think I/ve heard her say ten words since she
got here. Why is Tammy so angry?"
"Mr. Owens, Tammy doesn/t want anyone to
know what/s happened. She Just wants to put
it behind her. She Just wants to start
agai n. II
"She's not doing a very good Job at it"
I said firmly. I read the poem to her. She
made~ few attempts to respond. I could tell
she was crying.
"Let me go to a private phone" she
said. She put me on hold and, a few minutes
later, p1cked up on the line. She had
recovered herself.
"Mr. Owens, Tammy went to Southwood last
year . Becausewe/ve moved so often, she never
really let· herself get involved In too much ."
"Why the moving often?" I asked.
"My husband" she said and hesitated,
"--well, my ex-husband was in the army.
Anyway, Tammy did get quite involved at
Southwood. She went out for basketball,
volleyball, track. She had so much fun . " Her
voice cracked. "She was riding home one day.
The coach was bringing her home. She came
inside. She was so upset. I asked her what
was wrong. It took her 90 long to tell me .
20
The coach had driven out some and stopped the
car. Tammy was so scared. He tried to seduce
her. He actually made a pass at a fifteen­year-
old girl! II
"What happened?" I asked quietly,
shocked at what I was hearing.
"Tammy tried to get out of the car. He
said if she/d quit fighting, he/d take her
home. He drove her home then but made her
promise not to tell anyone or he/d make it
hard for her at school. But Tammy tells me
everything."
She was silent, and the phone line
remained that way for long minutes. My mind
was racing. I breathed deeply.
"Mrs. Milhouse, you are divorced then,
correct? How long ago?"
"Milhouse is my malden name. We/ve been
dlvorced since about a week before this
happened to Tammy. After it happened. I
pulled her out of there, and we moved. We
both wanted to Just start over."
"Did you take any legal action against
the coach?"
IIMr. Owens, you wouldn/t believe the way
those teachers stick together down there. I
got nowhere with the principal, nowhere with
the superintendent. And we couldn/t afford a
lawyer."
Over the weekend I saw Tammy running on
the road. I was driving my car. I thought
momentarily of slowing and talking to her
but, remembering what that coach had done; I
decided against it. That/s why she didn/t
want to touch me or have me touch her. My
God! I hated him--whoever It was--who dld
that to her!
The next week, during cross country
practice, Tammy suffered a shin splint. I was
glad; she would have to come to my office
daily for treatment or she wouldn/t be
prepared to run, ace bandage or not.
I couldn/t tell Tammy that I had talked
21
to her mom. I wanted her to tell me what
happened. She had to break sometime;
otherwise, the IInew start" would never come.
Maybe I would have to help it break.
Wednesday, Tammy came to my office
during study hall. She stood in the doorway,
waiting for me to speak. I purposely
pretended not to notice her. She cleared her
throat. I couldn't very well ignore that.
However, had it been anyone else, I'd have
probably thrown something at him or her.
"Hop up on the table" I said. I wanted
her to be as relaxed as possIble so I decided
to make her get the hot pad out and set it on
her leg. She obeyed.
I wasn/t sure of the best way to broach
the subject. I decided to dive right in.
"Where'd you go to school before this?"
I asked nonchalantly.
Her face tightened. "Southwood."
"Did you like It?"
"For a wh i 1 e . "
"For a while" I repeated, trying to
keep the conversation light. "Why /for a
wh il e '/?"
Silence. I looked at her. Her eyes had
teared. She reached down, picked the hot pad
off of her leg, put it back into the bath,
Jumped off the table and was out the door.
The next day, she didn/t come back.
This matter was exploding in my own
life. I took it home with me. I took it into
the classroom. It crowded in on my thoughts
much of the time. I was getting nowhere with
Tammy. Coach had told her she had to see me
for treatment or she couldn't run so I had
gotten additional opportunities. They were
fruitless. I only hoped that my willingness
to help, my concern would get through to her.
I wanted to be that someone In her poem,
"Someone, Care."
The final cross country meet was Friday.
It was on our home course so I planned on
watchIng. Tammy was unusually tense
Friday--even for her. I walked out to the
track Just in time to see the team walk out.
Tammy, again, was apart from them. She stared
In front of her as if in deep concentration.
They all stretched out.
"Stretch it out good, Tammy!" I called.
I could tel) she heard me only by a slight
cock of her head when her name was called.
"I'm glad I don't do thIs for the applause"
I thought to myself and smiled.
Then Tammy did something that surprIsed
me. She seemed to be checking out the other
runners as they lined up for the race, but
she wasn't looking directly at them. She was
looking beyond them. Her eyes contInued to
search. She looked at me and quickly away.
Her searchIng ended. She wanted to know if I
was watching! Hope Jumped insIde me. The gun
was shot.
Tammy darted out ahead; she was
sprintIng. Coach stole a look at me and then
started yell Ing.
"Tammy! Slow it down! You'll wear
yourself out early!" Then he crossed behind
me. As he passed, he saId, "I've
underestimated her before. Maybe I should
keep my mouth shut." He continued, however,
to yell.
Tammy didn't listen. FIfty yards ... a
hundred yards out in front of the leading
pack. I crossed the field. heading for the
two-mile marker. She was out of my sIght now.
I could hear yellIng in the distance. A light
rain began to fall. The time seemed
interminable. Where was she? Had she quit?
Maybe she had fallen. Just as I turned to
head back, I heard heavy breathing and
rustlIng of the grass. She was still running!
Her face was etched with pain.
II Tammy , you've got It won now hone Slow
it down. You've got it won."
No sign of her having heard me. She
whizzed by, intent on finishing? I didn/t
think so. She was running away as she had
been all season. I had to stop her, and I
planned on doing it right after the race.
I broke into a run and took a short cut
to the end. Stevens was there with anything
but a look of Joy (even though this one was
definitely going to set a record). I came up
to him as Tammy fell into our sight. Her pace
had slowed, but she was still pushing Just as
hard, fighting for breath.
"What is she trying to prove?!" Coach
mumbled as Tammy crossed the finish line
staggering. She continued to Jog slowly and
then, Just as slowly, sank to her knees,
holding her sides. I ran and grabbed her
right arm and Coach grabbed her left. We
lifted her.
"Keep walking, Tammy. You/II cramp up
worse. "
I don/t thInk these words registered
wIth her either. Her eyes were far away.
After a while, she straightened up and pulled
away from our grasp. Coach Stevens stopped
walKing. Tammy continued. He looked at me
questioningly. I followed Tammy.
"What did you do that for?" I asked
rather roughly. No answer. I knew it had to
end here. I couldn/t let her walk away like
this . It had gone too far. Her poem haunted
me. What her mom told me haunted me. She was
heading for her car. I tried to think.
Someone ran up behind me. It was Maryjo.
"Doc!" she called. "What/s wrong?"
IIDid something happen to make Tammy
mad?" I demanded.
She looked confused. "Not unless he
changed his mind already.1I Now it was my turn
to look confused. She clarified. IIMike Poston
asked her out today."
I began to understand. "He dldn/t back
out" I said assuredly. She/s scared. This
had to end. I headed for Tammy. She was
nearing her car. I had tried being kind and
gentle to no avail. I decided to play this
one rough. I ran ahead of her as she was
pulling her car door open, and I slammed it
shut. She was startled. She turned to face
me. Her face was hard .
.. You di dn / t answer my quest ion. II
"What question?" ~he asked harshly.
"I asked you why you ran the race that
way. II
"I don/t see anyone complaining."
"That/s not my point. Why did you run so
hard? You were clear of everyone for two
hundred yards! II No answer. "What are you
running from, Tammy!?"
"What do you mean?"
"I know your parents are divorced. BIg
deal. Lots of kids/ parents are divorced.
That/s nothing to run from. What else are you
running from?! II I kept my voice firm and
stood close to her so she wouldn/t get the
idea of walkIng away. She 5eemed to grope for
words. I saw a weakenIng in her face. This
moment had to be kept alive; it might never
come again. And Tammy couldn/t afford to wait
any longer. She began to shake her head and
the weakening increased.
"Why don/t YOU,ll she began, her voice
breaking, "leave me alone. 1I She started to
move around me. I placed my hands carefully
on her shoulders and pushed her back against
the car.
"What gives you the right to be mad at
the world!?"
"Plenty!" she exp l oded, her voice
gaining volume. "This Is my sixth hIgh
school: My parents are divorced . That
happened Just three months a go! I went t o a
lousy school last semester- -"
I broke In. "Why was it 10usy?1I She gave
me a sarcastic look, one t ha t to ld me she
knew that I knew. "And t hat makes you a ngry?"
"Yes it makes me a ngry ! II Her eyes were
25
wide.
"Okay! That's natural. You've got a
right to be angry. But it's been three
months, Tammy! Why don't you try to let the
anger go? Why don't you give us a chance?"
Her answer was immediate. "Because it's
easier not to!"
Her words stunned me. I dIdn't think she
realized why she was holding on to the anger
and keeping herself so closed. Tears were
falling down her face. Her shoulders sagged.
The hard look had vanished. and in its place
wa~ a tired, bewildered, frightened look. I
spoke gently.
"Tammy, you can trust us. Let us in. Let
us help you to start over . Let me in."
And for the first time since I met her,
she let me put my arms around her. She laid
her head on my shoulder and cried.
~J~~
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